


Enjoy the Ride

by FantasticWinter



Series: The Prince of Gotham & his Joker [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Burns, Canon-Typical Violence, Gunshots, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/pseuds/FantasticWinter
Summary: Bruce saves Jerome at the diner and a connection forms.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, The Joker/Bruce Wayne
Series: The Prince of Gotham & his Joker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215203
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Enjoy the Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senna01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senna01/gifts).



> Thank you so much Senna01 for helping me with this!

Jerome had felt pain before, all his life pain had been a constant companion of his. However, as his uncle poured boiling hot soup over his mouth, Jerome thought, perhaps, it might have been the worst pain he’d ever experienced. And, he’d gotten his face cut off and stapled back on for crying out loud. 

He should’ve expected his uncle would’ve called in back up. Uncle Zach had always been very popular at the circus, despite being an asshole whose pastime was beating up his nephew, and he had a lot of connections. It was poor planning on Jerome’s part and, as he struggled and sputtered in Lunkhead’s grasp, he came to the realization that he was going to die. 

No big show. No big send off. Jeremiah still alive and hiding behind a mask of sanity. _What a shame_. Not funny at all.

The bell over the front door chimed and they all looked over, Lunkhead’s arm tightly wrapped around his throat over his blistering, raw skin. Jerome struggled again.

“What are you doing?” Jerome knew that voice and a thrill ran down his spine. _Brucie_. Ever since that night at the circus when Bruce, Gotham’s beloved son, had literally punched his face off and held a shard of broken mirror to his throat, Jerome had been obsessed. Not with killing, Bruce, no. He’d seen the darkness in Bruce’s eyes, he’d seen the danger, and it excited him. He craved Bruce in a way he’d never craved anyone before. 

“Scram, kid,” Zach gestured to the door with a tilt of his head. Lunkhead tightened his hold, causing Jerome to choke.

“Let him go,” Bruce demanded. 

“Look, kid, I appreciate a concerned citizen and all but this is _Jerome Valeska_ the madman who broke out of Arkham tonight,” Zach turned his eyes to Jerome, a glare that reminded him of the nights his uncle would beat him black and blue when he was a kid. “He deserves what’s comin’ to him.”

“No one deserves that. Call the police and they will come for him.”

“You tell ‘em,” Jerome croaked, and _ow_ , his throat was raw from the inside as well from the damn soup. He heard Lunkhead growl in his ear. 

“Shuddup,” Zach snapped and then glanced at Bruce who hadn’t moved to leave. It was clear by the look in the kid’s eyes that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere to let Zach finish what he’d started. After a moment, Zach let out a deep sigh and said, “let him go,” Lunkhead dropped Jerome, who collapsed to the ground coughing and choking as he took in painful breaths of air. “And, get rid of the kid.”

Jerome heard the sound of a plate shattering against Lunkhead’s face. _Good try, Bruce_. Once he’d finally gotten his breathing back under control, Jerome glanced over and saw the gun that had been batted from his hand. With a groan, Jerome pushed to his feet and wrapped his arm around Zach’s neck from behind, pressing the gun to his temple. 

“Look at what we left lying around,” he growled into Zach’s ear.

Getting information from Zach had been surprisingly easy once he gained the upper hand. His uncle had always been a spineless snake, controlled by his mother just like her precious pets. His brother had gone to school at St. Ignatius after being taken from the circus. Jerome was sure a fancy school like that kept track of their alumni - - especially one as _special_ as his brother. 

“It was great catching up, Uncle Zach. You really brought back the utter helplessness of childhood,” Jerome started to take a few steps away from Zach, towards where Bruce and Lunkhead were still going at it. Honestly, Jerome was surprised that Bruce had held his own for as long as he had. “I’ll see you around,” Jerome said, aiming his gun at his uncle. He had every intention of killing the man who’d tormented him for so many years. Ending the life of the man who haunted Jerome’s nightmares, making him relive every brutal second of his upbringing. 

Bruce wouldn’t be happy if he killed him though. 

Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, Jerome grumbled to himself before lowering the gun slightly to shoot Zach in the kneecap. Zach screamed and moved his hands to clutch at his bleeding leg. 

“You _freak_! I’ll kill ya!” Zach shouted, spittle flying from his lips.

Jerome grimaced in disgust, “yeah, yeah. Join the club.”

The gun shot caused the other two who were fighting to stop suddenly. Lunkhead had Bruce bent backwards over the counter. Jerome looked over at the two and gestured to his bleeding uncle, “with Uncle Zach, the beatings never stopped. They went on and on.” Jerome saw the sympathy in Bruce’s eyes and he wondered just how Bruce’s heart could be so big - - that he could actually care about someone like him? “And, no one helped me. _Ever_. Really makes a man wonder.”

Jerome aimed the gun at Lunkhead, “you know what would be funny, Bruce? If I saved you.”

“Jerome, no!” Bruce bucked against the pole that Lunkhead used to pin him down.

Huffing out a breath, Jerome replied, “always such a spoilsport.” He shot twice in quick succession, a bullet shattering Lunkhead’s hand, making him release Bruce immediately with a shout of pain, the second shot landed in the side of the large man’s knee, sending him crashing down to the floor. 

Bruce coughed lightly, bringing a gloved hand to rub at his throat. He stepped over Lunkhead’s writhing form, stepping right up to Jerome, dark brows furrowed in worry. His eyes immediately locked onto the painful, blistering burns all around Jerome’s mouth and throat. 

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked, voice soft and serious, laced with genuine concern. 

“Peachy, Brucie,” Jerome smiled widely, hissing in pain as his fingers brushed against his blistered lips. 

“Come back to my place. We need to take care of those burns. They look bad,” Bruce’s eyes roved over Jerome’s face. He felt a fluttering of excitement at seeing Jerome again. He’d thought of him often after that night at the circus. It had been a terrifying night for Bruce but something about Jerome had stuck with him, something that lingered in Jerome’s eyes beckoned Bruce. 

There was a pain in Jerome’s eyes that mirrored his own. They’d both been through so much, Bruce had read about some of the horrors that Jerome had gone through. And then that had all been proven when Bruce walked into the diner and saw Jerome’s uncle torturing him.

Bruce wanted to protect him. He couldn’t understand all of his emotions but he knew he wanted to keep people from hurting Jerome. No one deserved the pain Jerome had suffered. 

Jerome cackled, brows raising in surprise, “you wanna take me home, Brucie? Gotta take me out to dinner first, at least.”

“You’re hurt and the entire GCPD is out looking for you,” Bruce quirked a brow, dark eyes all too serious. “Now is not really the time for jokes.”

“There is _always_ time for jokes,” Jerome smiled, glancing out the window when they could hear sirens approaching. “But,” Jerome drawled, “maybe we should skedaddle before Jimbo and his buddies show up.”

“My point exactly,” Bruce walked towards the door and Jerome found himself following. He couldn’t believe Bruce was helping him. Not only had Bruce saved him but now he was aiding him to escape from the police. 

If Jerome didn’t know any better, it seemed that Bruce actually cared about him. 

Once they stepped outside, Jerome’s eyes looked over the sleek, very expensive looking black car. “Wow, get to ride in style. Gotta hang with you more often, Brucie.”

Bruce’s lips twitched into a smile and he opened the back door. “The back windows are tinted, no one will see you. It’s that or the trunk.”

“Oh,” Jerome waggled his eyebrows, a sly grin spreading across his lips. He ignored the pain that spread across the entire lower half of his face. “Don’t get me all excited now.”

“Just get in,” Bruce gestured to the backseat again, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. 

Jerome offered him a quick wink before slipping into the backseat. Bruce shut the door behind him and then got into the driver’s seat. He glanced at Jerome in the rear view mirror and their eyes met briefly before Bruce looked back at the road, pulling out of the diner parking lot and heading in the direction of Wayne Manor.

The drive went by in silence as neither man seemed to know what to say as they processed what had happened that night so far. As they pulled up to the large mansion, Jerome looked outside the window. The large home was just as impressive as it had been when he’d first seen it, the night of the circus. There weren’t many lights on, giving the mansion an eerie vibe. 

Jerome didn’t miss how Bruce led him in through the back entrance, of course his butler - - Alfred, probably wouldn’t approve of Bruce bringing in the man who’d kidnapped and nearly killed him a year ago. It was a fair point but Jerome was a changed man now. Bruce was his, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt Bruce. 

Bruce opened the door slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. He looked around before gesturing for Jerome to follow him in. As they went down dark, gloomy halls Jerome said, “man, Brucie, you really gotta spruce up the place. The whole dreary gothic vibe is kinda dark don’cha think?”

“Ssshh,” Bruce hissed quietly, “I don’t feel like explaining to Alfred while you’re here before I tend to your burns.”

They made it to the upper rooms and Bruce took Jerome’s hand and gently tugged him into a bedroom. Jerome’s eyes snapped to their interlocked hands and the feel of Bruce’s skin on his. It was nice, perhaps the nicest feeling in the world - - at least Jerome’s world. Bruce shut the door after letting go of Jerome’s hand and then pointed to the bed. 

“Have a seat. Each bathroom has medical supplies, I’m going to find things to help with those burns,” Bruce let his eyes linger on Jerome for a few moments before he turned to walk into the connected bathroom.

Jerome looked around at the large bedroom, the walls a deep red printed wallpaper with dark wood molding. A large window framed by red and gold curtains overlooked the Wayne property. The large bed in the center of the room was piled with plush looking pillows as well as the decorative pillows that seemed like such a waste but rich people always seemed to love them. Jerome felt out of place in his grimey black and white striped trousers and green soup stained white undershirt. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, he could hear Bruce rummaging about in the bathroom for whatever supplies he needed. He still couldn’t believe he was at Wayne Manor with _Bruce’s_ invitation. Everything seemed surreal, Jerome honestly wondered if Uncle Zach had managed to kill him and he was in heaven. That seemed to be the only plausible answer for everything that had gone happened so far.

Jerome turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. “I still don’t know why you’re helping me . . .” 

Bruce crouched down between Jerome’s legs - - and Jerome had to beg himself to behave as he did so. Looking up at Jerome, Bruce carefully pressed a cool cloth to the burns on Jerome’s chin and lips. Jerome sucked in a breath at the pain it caused and he heard Bruce mumble a soft, “sorry,” but he didn’t remove the compress from the burns. Jerome tried not to think about how this was one of the only touches he could remember receiving that the person didn’t have the intent on hurting him. 

“No one deserves what your uncle did to you,” Bruce answered after a moment, his touch gentle but had enough pressure for the compress to do its job. 

_Oh, Brucie, you don’t even know the half of it._ Jerome could tell many stories that he was sure would sour Bruce’s stomach.

“This ain’t nothing, Brucie,” Jerome said honestly but his lips twitched into a smile. The smile hid his pain, emotional and physical. It was hard not to get stuck in the memories of his uncle - - and even Lunkhead sometimes, beating him, pinning him down, making sure Jerome knew his place in the circus.

Bruce watched Jerome for several long moments, one hand keeping the compress in place. “You know, you don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hide behind the smile, the laugh, you don’t have to do it. Not here, not with me,” Bruce eased the compress from Jerome’s face, eying the raw skin. Some of the burns would definitely scar and the thought made Bruce’s blood boil. Family was supposed to look out for one another, love one another, and Jerome’s uncle had poured boiling soup over his own nephew’s face. 

Jerome paused, body stiffening slightly and he fought the urge to say something nasty. “If I don’t, they win. Can’t let them think they beat me, Brucie. You keep laughing until you believe it.”

Frowning softly, Bruce shook his head, “why not let the emotions out and feel real happiness when you get it?”

Barking out a laugh, Jerome gave the younger man a crooked grin that tugged at the burns painfully, “don’t know if you’ve been paying attention much but I don’t got a whole lot to be happy about.”

Letting out a sigh, Bruce picked up the tube of burn ointment and started to carefully apply to Jerome’s neck, chin, and lips. “Why did you go there anyway, Jerome? Back to the man who’d abused you as a child. I saw you talking to him while I was fighting that brute. You needed something from him, didn’t you?”

Jerome snorted softly, he hadn’t even thought of Jeremiah since he’d shot Lunkhead and saved Bruce. “Yeah, but, I don’t wanna talk about that.” He lifted his hand, still covered by a pair of white gloves though they were stained with splashes of soup and a few specks of blood. He stroked his thumb over Bruce’s cheek and to his surprise Bruce didn’t pull away. 

Bruce got up slowly, leaning in slightly and Jerome’s breath caught in the back of his throat, watching Bruce’s every move. However, as quickly as the moment had happened, Bruce backed up a step and Jerome’s hand slipped from his face. He missed the contact instantly.

“You can stay here for the night. I don’t think Alfred will look in here. I can get you some clothes to change into,” Bruce swallowed around the lump in his throat. He didn’t understand all these feelings he had for Jerome but he knew he shouldn’t have them. Jerome was dangerous, a killer, he’d tried to kill Bruce twice. Bruce’s brows furrowed as he thought of something, “you didn’t kill your Uncle or that other man. Doesn’t quite seem like you, Jerome.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jerome laughed and shrugged his shoulders, “because, I knew it would make you upset. Besides, a shattered kneecap is way more painful than a bullet to the brain.”

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly, “you . . . you didn’t kill them. . . for _me_?” 

Jerome lifted his arms as he shrugged, “what can I say? I think you cast a spell on me, Brucie. Ever since that night. I saw all that rage in you, the darkness in your eyes.” He watched as Bruce’s expression changed. Lifting a finger, Jerome smiled and cut off whatever Bruce had been about to say, “I know you ain’t the guy to let it out. I’m not here to get you to let it take control, if that thought crossed that pretty little mind of ours.” Jerome stood up, closing the distance between them. The younger man had to tilt his head back slightly to meet his eyes. Jerome stroked a gloved finger down Bruce’s jaw. 

“Then what do you want?” Bruce breathed out.

Dropping his forehead down to Bruce’s, Jerome took a deep breath of Bruce’s natural scent. He felt Bruce’s fingers lightly play over the scars near his temple and Jerome let out a soft purr of delight. “I want you, Brucie. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Every day I was in Arkham, I thought of you. I don’t know whatcha did to me.”

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut. None of this made any sense but being here, in Jerome’s arms, it felt right. Bruce pulled back slightly so he could press his lips lightly against Jerome’s. He felt him stiffen in Bruce’s arms before relaxing and melting into the kiss. Jerome couldn’t care about the pain from the burns on his skin. Bruce kissed him. 

After a few moments, Bruce pulled back enough so he could whisper, “what do we do now?”

“Enjoy the ride, Brucie,” Jerome smiled, running his hand down Bruce’s neck, over his shoulders and down his arms. “That’s all we can do.” Jerome leaned down once more, lightly kissing Bruce’s lips once more. 

Bruce stroked his fingers through Jerome’s hair and the older man leaned into the touch. It broke Bruce’s heart, how much Jerome seemed to crave a gentle, loving touch. It didn’t take long for Bruce to see it. Jerome was touch starved. Bruce doubted he’d been on the receiving end of a loving touch much in his life. 

“First thing,” Bruce offered Jerome a small smile, “you need a shower.”

Jerome laughed but conceded with a nod, “I guess old soup doesn’t smell very good, huh?”

“Just make sure you don’t get hot water on your burns, use cool water to wash your hair so you don’t accidentally get hot water on your face,” Bruce suggested, drawing another smile from Jerome.

“Yes, sir,” Jerome gave Bruce a lazy two-fingered salute. 

“I’ll get you some clothes to change into,” Bruce said, letting his eyes move down Jerome’s body before moving back up to his face. Jerome seemed to rather enjoy being checked out. 

As Bruce turned to head towards the door, Jerome called softly, “Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for saving me,” Jerome swallowed. He knew that Bruce had saved him in more ways than one. 

Bruce nodded once, his lips pulled into a small smile. “Anytime, Jerome.”


End file.
